


House Plants & Yoga

by grlnrdpnbby



Series: Sebastien le Livre and The Human Condition [2]
Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Booker Gets His Shit Together, Booker | Sebastien le Livre Needs Therapy, Booker | Sebastien le Livre Needs a Hug, Exiled Booker | Sebastien le Livre, Gen, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Past Attempted Suicide, Recovery, References to Depression, Sobriety, no beta we die like they don't
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-18 10:01:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28741425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grlnrdpnbby/pseuds/grlnrdpnbby
Summary: Sobriety will not stop the dreams.It takes him a while to remember that he’s no longer the only one dreaming of Quynh, and that’s what breaks him.He sobs and curses and breaks a window before he decides that is enough. He thought of his family, the nightmares they were doubtless suffering from now. Because of him.ORBooker gets his shit together and realises he needs to find Quynh in order to get himself a good nights sleep, so he does.Canon divergence from after the group exiles Booker.
Relationships: Andy | Andromache & Booker | Sebastien & Nile Freeman & Joe | Yusuf & Nicky | Nicolò & Quynh, Andy | Andromache of Scythia & Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani & Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Booker | Sebastien le Livre & Andy | Andromache of Scythia, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: Sebastien le Livre and The Human Condition [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2120571
Comments: 59
Kudos: 100





	1. Brighton

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is a tumblr post that turned into a 4k fic in a day and I'm nowhere near done.
> 
> I have a plan for where this is headed but updates will be sporadic.  
> I have no beta and I hate editing my work (cuz then I have to read it ew) so please let me know if you spot anything. Enjoy!

Booker was Not doing this to say sorry to the rest of the team, though that is a benefit, but for himself as part of his healing. He couldn’t sleep. He had tried everything, sleeping pills, meditating, knocking himself out. But he had been sober for months now and he refused to go back on the progress that meant so much to him. Nile’s face popped up every time he walked pass a liquor store and the faith she had had in him keeps him going, pushing through his sobriety day by day, hour by hour.

But sobriety will not stop the dreams.

It takes him a while to remember that he’s no longer the only on dreaming of Quynh, and that’s what breaks him. The thought of his family comforting Nile, where they wouldn’t comfort him. He screams, rages, breaks more glasses and chairs than he had since he’d lost Fleur all those years ago.

She would shake her head if she could see him now, she would hold him. He hadn’t realised how much he’d craved someone to hold him before this moment. How much he missed that feeling. Andy, she was the last one to hold him. 

Andy, Andromache.

He sobs and cruses and breaks a window before he decides that is enough. He thought of his family, the nightmares they were doubtless suffering from now. Because of him.

And so he planned. it was something he knew he could do, something he had always done, planned flights and mapped out routes, exit strategies, booked hotels and organised trips.  
He knocked himself out. One last time, he swore to himself. Never again.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He came around in the morning with the sun. he started with the chairs, burnt them. Then he swept the floor, packed his bags and sold the apartment.

He spent hours in a tiny café on the corner of the street planning, to find an ideal base and home for the foreseeable future, he settles on Brighton. 

He ends up buying a two bedroom flat in an apartment building five minutes from the seafront, he calls the number and assures them that no, he does not need a tour and yes, he’s sure he doesn’t need a tour before buying it, and that’s great but he doesn’t have a pet, and no, he doesn’t smoke.

Which is a lie, but he figures now is as good a time as any to give it up, so he finds himself a flight out to Gatwick, organises for his motorcycle to be bought over and heads to the airport. 

He calls a diving school when he’s waiting in departures, and starts building an alias.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

William Edouard is a recently divorced buisnessman, who has re-evaluated his life choices after his divorce, quit his job moved from France to Brighton and decided to take up diving whilst he is on the hunt for a change in career, but you can call him Bill.

After signing all the paperwork at a dingy little office, Booker makes his way to his new house. Its a hell of a lot more luxurious than any of his other safehouses. The place is a penthouse, two bedrooms one bathroom and a massive balcony and even allocated parking.

The main door of the building is a generic little thing, just a grey door with 5 buzzers on the side. He jogs up four flights of stairs to his new front door, it felt oddly significant, opening the door for the first time. He runs his hand through his hair back and unlocked his new apartment.

It’s really nice, very empty, but nice. The place is well lit, he takes the fourth key off the chain he was given and opens the door to the terrace. He knew it had a sea view but seeing it is something different. The sea looks unrealistically blue and the shouts of people and their kids from the seafront causes Booker to feel more carefree than he has in years. 

He unpacks his guns, C-4 and knifes off his person and into various kitchen cabinets, onto a mantlepiece and sticks a Glock into his waistband, leaving only that and a knife in his boot. He makes a mental note to find buy himself a massive safe.

It was freeing to rid his person of the excessive weapons he often found himself supporting. He was unable to bring himself to get rid of them all, but it was still a relief to get some weight off himself.

“Home sweet home” he muttered.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------

And so, Booker reaches back into his somewhat murky past and forges himself a new identity. He could, in theory, ask Copley. The two men keep in contact despite the exile and occasionally recommend each other books. But then he would have to explain why he is in desperate need of a new identity, and James would likely ask him to go on a solo mission instead of just taking payment. And besides, Booker decided to give up lying as part of his Getting His Shit Together.

And so, he forges it all himself. 

Passport, driving licence, a degree in computer science, a gun licence and a birth certificate just because he can.

Given the amount of time finding Quynh going to take him, he figures he might as well forge it all. So he grabs a new phone from a sketchy looking shop he’d passes on his walk to his apartment. It’s not cheap, but not a lot seems to be these days.

He decides on a pay as you go contract seeing as the phone actually belongs to ‘Bill Edouard’, so with any luck he won’t be using it too much. He downloads Instagram and Twitter, which according to the app store are the most popular social media sites now. He fiddles with the accounts until they backdate, so according to Twitter William Edouard had been on the site for 7 years. He backdates a couple of meaningless tweets and makes one about moving to the seaside town.

Instagram takes a while longer. He finds some photos he’s taken of Nantes, backdates them, and then goes looking for a couple of him with other people. Scrolling through his camera roll he finds a photo Andy had taken of him, Joe and Nicky. If anyone asks there were no tears involved in unexpectedly coming across the photo.

It’s the back of their heads against the skyline of Istanbul at sunrise. It had been an easy job; they had finished it early and decided to spend the rest of the days till their flight out getting high on the roof of the safehouse.

He captions it ‘holidays’ and finds the beer emoji. It’s the closest he’s come to alcohol in months, but he changes his mind last minute. The sun emoji takes its place alongside a stupid face.

It’s the closest Bill’s social medias come to having any faces on them, and he plans to keep it that way.

Then comes followers and people Edouard follows. Which is exasperating to say the least, but it feels necessary. It takes him the better part of two days to completely forge Edouard's best friends and newly acquired younger brother’s Instagram’s and Twitter’s. He leaves his account public so after tagging all his black and white photos of Nantes to the point of tears, Edouard has gotten himself a considerable following.

The diving course will take four months. Which is exasperating, but not unexpected, it also gives him time to buy and learn how to operate an active sonar equipped ROV. He should also probably take a refresher course for a boat he is going to somehow get his hands on.

YouTube, Booker soon realises, is undeniably one of the best modern inventions. “Period”, as Nile would say. So he finds some basic ROV and sonar equipment use tutorials and he’s relatively confident the rest he’ll be able to figure out himself, with the help of a manual. ‘so not really by yourself then Book’ a teasing voice that sounds disconcertingly like Andy makes its way into his head.

He sighs, grabs his reusable shopping bags and searches for the nearest Supermarket. 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After filling his new fridge and cupboards with food to last the next few weeks, setting up his new coffee machine and setting down the four supposedly unkillable houseplants that he had grabbed thinking of Andy. One for the bathroom, one for the kitchen and two for the living room.

“This is not a home, Booker”, Andy had said once looking around one of his apartments, years ago. “It needs something…..” she had sighed, hands on hips as she glared around the flat. “A photo or a houseplant or a teapot, you know. This is just- it’s just a house.”

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He jerks awake, breathing hard, clawing at his throat.  
Drowning.  
Quynh.  
Fuck, he wanted a cigarette.  
Breathe, he told himself. Slow and deep, in and out.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

40 mins later Booker was online shopping. He knew what it was but had never done it before, and it turned out to be unnervingly anxiety inducing. 

Bedsheets, a bed, cups, plates, random utensils, towels, sofas and chairs, rugs and carpets, the whole lot. All due to arrive in the next week.

Booker felt oddly determined to make this his home. Not William Edouard's home. His. And so he ordered three ‘dark coffee’ coloured bookcases, and went in search of a bookshop.

It was something the others had always teased him about, the way he ordered new books every time he bought himself a new safe house, instead of just brining his collection over. 

So he finally decided to empty the storage unit he still has in Marseille. He finds a ridiculously expensive moving company that specialise in moving antiques and suddenly he feels a lot better about his new apartment.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Brighton was a nicer than he had expected it to be. His initial research of the town had described it as trendy, which confused him because he could not begin to understand how a city could be trendy, but it was proven to him by the hordes of teenagers that leaked out of the train station every Saturday morning, with their eyeliner all over their faces, chains around their necks, and with their corsets which were apparently back on trend?

He wandered around the busy streets of Brighton and eventually he came across a bookshop, well, a Waterstones. Not exactly what he was looking for but still. He walked in surprised to find carpet beneath his feet as he moved through the shop.

He ended up with some new bestsellers, which he was incredibly wary of, three different cookbooks, a book on Buddhism, two self-help books, some German poetry and a couple of books on how to care for house plants.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

His bike had finally arrived a day later, so he headed down to the diving school. It was an almost unpleasantly sunny day, so he grabbed his favourite sunglasses and grabbed some sunscreen.

It was the same brand Joe would spend far too long applying to Nicky’s back when they took vacations somewhere sunny. More than three different restaurant reservations had been cancelled one holiday, much to Booker and Andy’s frustration, in favour of sunscreen application turning into massages, which turned into foreplay, like many things were apt to do with Joe&Nicky. 

Chucking at the memory of Andy lobbing empty sunscreen bottles at the other boy’s heads as he had cheered her on, Booker slapped some sunscreen on his nose and set off.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He took a deep breath before entering the shop. A small bell tingled as he pushed the door open and walked over to the counter. The shop stank of seawater, there were heaps of equipment all over the shelves, and an inviting sign on the counter that read ‘ring the bell or yell’.

“Hello! How can I help you?” A slight Irish accent hidden among a booming voice surprised him. Booker turned to the other end of the shop and saw a middle-aged man covered head to toe in freckles smiled at him.

“Hi, I’m Bill Edouard” Booker offered his hand to shake, which the man’s calloused hand firmly returned. “I spoke to someone over the phone, I’m looking for an intensive diving course.”

“Seamus Daly.” He introduced himself, “Of course! Lillian mentioned you, she said you sounded interested in the four-month course we’re offering?” 

Booker nodded, “Yeah it sounds great”, he rolled his eyes at himself internally, “diving has always been a dream of mine.” He practically cringed at the sentence, but it seemed to be what Seamus was waiting for.

He slipped behind the counter and logged into the computer, “Do you have any diving experience at all?”

“I’ve only dived twice before, and it was a few years ago now” Booker explained. What he did not explain was that ‘a few years ago’ meant 1894.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

With the lessons half paid for and due to start in a week Booker inquired after buying his own equipment, “Is that something I should do now, or should I rent from you for now?”

“Probably best to rent for the first two weeks or so, see what fits best.” Daly explained as a young woman with light turquoise, almost white, long hair and an eyebrow piercing stepped out from behind a door that Booker had previously assumed to be a storage cupboard.

“Lillian, this is Bill, you spoke on the phone a couple of days ago.” Seamus turned to his employee.

“Nice to meet you in person.” Lillian nodded at Booker and leaned over the counter to shake his hand. He gave her a small smile and was unsurprised to feel her properly squeeze his hand.

“So, what brings you to our humble abode?” she asked playfully, tapping a pen against the counter, which was accompanied by an eyeroll from Seamus.

“Just moved here a couple of weeks ago from Nantes and I figured it was as good a time as any to learn how to dive.” Yet another bout of lies, but it could not be avoided.

“Nantes! Damn,” she exclaimed, her eyebrows risen up to her forehead, “You’re French? Why the change of scenery?” Another eyeroll from Seamus.

“Leave the poor man alone you fiend.” Seamus tutted as his typing became progressively harsher.

“No, I don’t mind” Booker figured that as Lillian and Seamus were likely to be the closest he would come to having friends in the next year, or however long he stayed, he should indulge her questions. 

“Oui,” he sighed, realising his whole ‘no lying’ thing was going to have to wait, “divorce.” He supplied, then backtracked at their expressions, “I’m glad to have gotten away be honest, and Brighton’s lovely, so no complaints from me”

“Sorry man” He hated the pity in her voice and reminded himself that it was aimed at Edouard. “Anyway, are you all up and running to start in two weeks?”

“Yep,” he smiled and went to shake Seamus’ hand, “Thank you again, I’ll see you then.”

“Perfect.” Seamus gave him a tight, but genuine smile. Lillian went for a small and slightly awkward wave from where she was back to tapping her pen against the counter.

“Bye!” she called as the bell dingled on his way out.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Furniture started arriving two days later and the place was starting to feel like a home. He had gone shopping for even more plants after the discovery that they did actually make the place feel more alive. He was up to nine and after the assembling of his new bookshelves he decided he needed a couple more to fill the gaps between his books.

They had arrived from Marseille yesterday and it had, unsurprisingly, been incredibly emotional, and felt solemnly final to unpack them. Mostly first and second editions of famous works, his collection was an antique bookseller’s dream. Some of his books were gifts from his family, predating even Joe&Nicky. 

Booker had never organised his books alphabetically or anything stupid like that. Simply by how it felt right, “vibes” Nile would call it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case this is not glaringly obvious, I don't know what I'm doing.  
> Please send help.
> 
> I'm 16, I know literally nothing about anything and Wikipedia is my go to source for any questions I have, so please let me know if anything sounds stupid or implausible.
> 
> Kudos, comments, suggestions and constructive criticism all mean the world to me <3


	2. Neighbours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sitting on his new sofa he decided it was time to face the music and finally introduce himself to his new neighbours.
> 
> He had been putting it off, convincing himself he could not go without food for the neighbours. What would Nicky say?
> 
> And so he spent the morning utilizing his new cookbooks until he felt he had perfected the vegan cookies. He was not vegan, but a voice in his head that sounded like Nicky had insisted that he should make vegan cookies. “What if they’re vegan Sebastien?! And you end up standing there offering them food they cannot eat!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for some more human interaction much to Booker's chagrin.
> 
> Again its just been me and autocorrect against the world, so let me know if you spot anything.

Sitting on his new sofa he decided it was time to face the music and finally introduce himself to his new neighbours.

He had been putting it off, convincing himself he could not go without food for the neighbours. What would Nicky say?

And so he spent the morning utilizing his new cookbooks until he felt he had perfected the vegan cookies. He was not vegan, but a voice in his head that sounded like Nicky had insisted that he should make vegan cookies. “What if they’re vegan Sebastien?! And you end up standing there offering them food they cannot eat!”

Cookies in hand Booker figured he would work his way down the building. Rolling his eyes at the Nicky in his head he grabbed the cookies off the table and snatched his keys out of a plant pot in his hallway containing a snake plant he had dubbed Susie.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He rung the bell on the flat below him, flat 3. He heard some shuffling before the door was wrenched open by a small boy.

“JAMES DON’T OPEN THE DOOR.” An anxious voice screeched from another room.

The boy that opened the door was a small bundle of energy, he had a mop of dark hair and a pair of fierce and sparking brown eyes. 

James giggled as another boy rounded the corner to stare at Booker. It took him a second to realise they were twins, which it really shouldn’t have considering they were identical. Their grins reminded him of his oldest boy, Marc. Who also never seemed to listen to him. Instinct taking over he crouched down to their height and stuck out his hand.

“I’m Bill, I’m your new neighbour I just moved in upstairs.” The boys showed no hesitance in moving to grab Booker’s hand. 

“I’m James!” the first boy gripped his hand and shook it wildly, as if booker had told him he had won a lottery.

“I’m Sam.” The second boy introduced himself. Shaking Booker’s hand with a contagious enthusiasm that had Booker smiling.

“Eloise.” Booker’s instinct kicked in and he stood up, reaching for his gun with his free hand before he could think properly. Realising it was the boy’s mother, he moved his hand to his pocket. The woman in front of him spoke harshly, a stark contrast with her soft features and gentle gaze.

“Hi, sorry to intrude, I’m Bill I just moved in upstairs.” She looked him over for a moment, and seemed to judge that did not have to be considered a problem.

“He’s our new neighbour mum!” James turned to explain to his mum.

“I know baby, but what did we say about opening the door without me here?” She spoke harshly but Booker could tell there was no real venom behind her words.

“Not to.” He said incredibly monotone, turning back to Booker for an eyeroll. 

She shook her head and laughed, turning to Booker.

“Hi! Would you like to come in I was just about to make myself a cup of tea?”

No, he did not, he wanted to give them the cookies and go.

“Uh yeah that’d be nice, I brought some cookies.”

It suddenly occurred to Booker that he had not really thought this through. Bill’s backstory vague in his head and his people skills arguably almost worse than Andy’s. But he was swept into the flat before he had time to properly process his panic.

“What can I get you?” Eloise asked.

“Whatever your having would be great”, he turned to observe his surroundings, “please.” He added as an afterthought.

The flat had the same basic layout as his, from what he could see, but Eloise’s place was far more worn down, more lived in. Her kitchen was for some unfathomable reason, green.

He set the biscuits down on the counter and sat in a chair around the circular table Eloise had gestured vaguely at.

“Can I have a cookie?” Sam asked, foregoing Booker to stare intently at the plate he had bought down.

“Of course, I made them for you.” The boys grabbed a handful each and moved to sit either side of Booker. He had been in less intimidating professional interrogations.

“So,” Sam started as the kettle started hissing.

“How come you moved in upstairs?” James asked, thoughtfully chewing a cookie.

“Well I’m from Nantes." Another lie. "In France.” He clarified, as the boys attempt to appear as if they did, of course, already know this. “But I got divorced. And I’ve always wanted to come to England, so here I am.” He gladly accepted the tea Eloise passed him. “Thank you.” He said as she gave him a sad smile and sat down on the other side of Sam.

“That musta sucked.” Sam said with all the wisdom the seven-year-old could muster, whilst shoving yet another cookie into his mouth, which Booker decided to take as a compliment to his baking.

James nodded sagely and chugged a glass of water, and Booker was finding the boys incredibly endearing, but he was struggling not to laugh.

“What do you do for a living Bill?” Eloise asked, blowing her tea in an attempt to cool it down.

“I just quit an accounting job. But I’m thinking of going into teaching.” Which was, depending on how you saw it, not a complete lie. He had quit/lost a job (and then some) and he was thinking of taking up teaching part time if his search for Quynh ended up lasting over a year.

“Quite a change in pace. Feel free to take these little buggers off my hands to practise if you need.” She teased at her boy’s pouty faces.

“What about you?” Booker said, realising he was going to have to make a conscious effort to engage in a conversation so he would not come across as rude.

“I’m a fishmonger,” she took a sip of tea, “well most days, sometimes I can be found behind the counter at Waterstones.” The boys had long since finished all the cookies at this point and were practically bouncing in their seats.

“I’m afraid these two have some schoolwork to finish but you’re more than welcome to stay for another cuppa.” She said as the boys raced off shouting “BYE BILL” behind them.

“Thank you, but I should leave you to it.” He was glad to have met them but as far as Booker was concerned, he had done his neighbourly duty, or whatever. He thanked her for the tea as she stood up.

“Feel free to pop by if you need anything.” She said as she led him back to the door.

“Thank you.” He said, tired of all the pleasantries, despite her kind intentions.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Whoever lived on the second floor wasn’t home, so he made his way down to the ground floor.

An old man opened the door.

“’ello”

“Hi, my names Bill, I just moved in on the fourth floor.”

“Oh I heard they’d finally sold the place. Eran Wilson.” They shook hands and silently came to the agreement that they each had better things to do than sit around drinking tea and gossiping.

“See you round then lad.” He said with a small nod.

“Nice meeting you.” Booker offered, surprised he didn’t feel irritated by the man calling him lad, even though Booker was around twice his age.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

And now for the basement. He knocked on the door and took a step back.

A dog barked.

Again.

And again.

And again.

“FUCK.” Someone wrenched the door open and smiled tiredly at him. “Hi. You must be Number 5.”

Number 5. 5th what? Oh. Like 5th floor, right.

“Yeah, sorry if it’s a bad time.” He itched to go back to his laptop, he was sick of shaking people’s hands and making small talk.

“I’m Acorn.” They stuck their hand out. Booker reached out and shook it, only for the barking to start up again.

“You don’t mind dogs do you?” His new neighbour looked up at him.

“Nope.”

“Sick, you wanna meet Alfie?” 

\-------------------------------------------------

Alfie, it turned out, was an English Mastiff. And Acorn was a coastguard. Acorn’s apartment was full of…… stuff. Old records and six different guitars and china tea sets and sketchbooks and beanbags and scrapbooks and collages all over the walls. Cacti and picture frames covered every surface. 

“Wife’s still asleep.” they nodded towards a door as she went through to the kitchen.

They grabbed a flask and a dog lead and gestured to the door.

“I’m gonna walk Alfie, you can join me if you want.” 

“Maybe another time but thank you.” These English people were starting to rub off on him, if the number of times he had said thank you recently was anything to go by.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Finally back up in his flat Booker opened his laptop and started planning. Here is what he came up with.

 Go to diving classes  
 Buy a ROV  
 Learn how to operate said ROV  
 No drinking  
 Research major storms and natural disasters in the area for the last 500 years  
 Find a boat  
 Remember how to drive said boat  
 No drinking  
 Go out to sunrise to sundown every day until he finds Quynh  
 No drinking  
 Dive down and get Quynh  
 Bring her back up and do not get killed by her (essential)  
 Make sure she is not insane (unlikely)  
 No drinking  
 Integrate her into 21st century society  
 No drinking  
 Track down the others  
 No drinking  
 Return Quynh to them  
 Go back to exile  
 Sleep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a long list I know.  
> It also doubles as a rough plan for the rest of the fic. WHAT NO WHO SAID THAT AAJHAHAJA V FUNNY
> 
> Am I starting to project onto Booker?? That's nobodies business.


	3. Yoga & Anxiety

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our favourite French rat starts yoga and has some angsty times.
> 
> Please read the trigger warnings <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! 
> 
> POTENTIAL TRIGGER WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER:  
> Booker has a nightmare about Quynh and drowning.  
> This is promptly followed by two panic attacks.  
> Mention of potential relapses and past attempted suicide.
> 
> This is quite a short and angsty chapter which was originally part of a longer chapter, but I've decided to split the two up and the next chapter will also be a bit smaller than normal and hopefully I'll have it up this afternoon.
> 
> Also the layout may be a bit funky my Word doc isn't cooperating.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Three weeks into the diving courses and Booker felt as if he was getting the hang of his new routine. Monday to Friday was

• Diving lessons from 9-12.  
• Lunch with a combination of neighbours and diving instructors.  
• ROV and sonar YouTube from 2-4.  
• Yoga from 5-6.  
Weekends were reserved for research and avoiding socialising at all costs in favour of reading.

It was one of the self-help books that recommended yoga. And seeing as he was failing to inspire himself to go running, it seemed like a good alternative.

He banged on the basement flat’s door. Jameela, Acron’s wife opened the door.

“Bill, how can I help you?” She wandered towards the kitchen, leaving him to trail through their through the hallway after her.

“I was wondering if I could borrow a yoga mat of yours.” She looked him over for a minute.

“Of course, Bill. But if you decide to take actual classes you better come to me.” She picked up a pale blue mat and handed it to him. “Wait, one thing.” She ran off to the bathroom and started rooting around. Booker knew better than to question her, so he leaned against the wall and waited for the ultimate crash of the cupboards emptying themselves onto the floor followed by a triumphant huff.

Jameela walked back over to him with a pack of… lavender… sticks…?

“It’s lavender,” she handed the packet over as if that explained it all, “enjoy the yoga Bill.”

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After 5 frustrated minutes of googling Booker found that lavender was commonly used to help people get to sleep.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

So apparently you were meant to burn the sticks.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Yoga was… challenging. It took him all of two minutes to realise jeans were not the way to go about this.

Two days and some running shorts later Booker grabbed an iPad and opened YouTube again to a ‘gentle’ twenty-five-minute video.

Ready to ‘embrace the sounds and sights of the park’ Adriene was in, Booker got his borrowed mat out.

There was a hell of a lot of talking going on and Booker’s patience was quickly running out as he waited for her to actually start.

Breathing, is what yoga seemed to be so far.

And more breathing. And ‘taking in his surroundings’.

He sighed; he might as well fully commit. 

He ended up sort of lost in the process and after working through the rest of the video with his eyes closed, it took him a minute to realise it was over.

It was not something he had really been expecting to enjoy, but it was the perfect mix of meditative vibes and an undeniable workout. Parts of it felt familiar and yet some stretches bent his body in new ways he had not been prepared for.

And so yoga became a regular fixture in Sebastien le Livre’s new life.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He figured the best way to start his search for Quynh was working from the point he knew she had been cast off at and use records of storms in the last 500 years to calculate where she should have ended up.

So found himself a map that fit his needs. It had the UK at the centre and showed the North Sea, the North Atlantic Ocean and the English Channel. He found some colourful pins to track her with and he was good to go.

He knew where to start from the time he and Andy had gotten so wasted, she started talking about Quyhn. It had been the first time he had received any extra information other than the obligatory “her name is Quynh” talk from when he first asked the rest of the Guard about the reoccurring nightmares he was suffering from.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I just- It’s Quynh yo- you know I… couldn’t stop but. 500 years an…” Andy seemed to be grasping at loose straws.

Booker finished the bottle of tequila and found himself involuntarily tearing up. 

“I’m so so sor- sorry Andy. I would swim for a hundred billiongillion years to bring her back to all of you. You all. All deserve her here and… and she is… so much better… you know how I mean?” Booker knocked back another shot.

“It was like where Brighton, like Brighton and Hove now and I looked Sebby, years and years and years and years,” her speech was becoming increasingly slurred, as she reached over the filthy table to lean right into his face. “three miles from shore Sebby. One… two and three.” She counted it out on her fingers, then collapsed back down into her chair.

“Andy?” Booker reached towards her, confused by her teary smile.

“Let’s dance Book. Quynh loved dancing. We would dance sometimes; did I tell you?”

So they stumbled over to the radio in the corner gripping each other for support and giggling as they tripped over their own feet. Booker reached the old radio first and shushed Andy as he twiddled the buttons. When the thing finally started playing some recognisable tune, Andy grabbed Booker’s hand and dragged him to the middle of the kitchen. They started off enthusiastically, shaking their bodies off beat, but somehow ended up sort of just swaying side by side, until they made their way over to the couch, where ended up passing out.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They never talked about the conversation they had had that night, but Booker was grateful for it now more than ever.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He got back from his weekly shop with his arms full of new books and two new houseplants. A cactus he had christened Potato and another Swiss Cheese plant he’d decided to call Gerard. He was undeniably in need of a new bookshelf and was starting to consider turning the spare bedroom into a library, but that was not really an option.

He was coming to the end of his diving course and was starting to get the hang of his ROV. He really needed to look into buying himself a boat, but with his monthly mortgage eating up the majority of his savings and considering he didn’t have access to the teams shared bank accounts for the next 98 years, he was probably going to have to look into getting himself a long-term job sometime soon.

After a quick google he calculated it would take him around seven months to complete the online teaching course he had found, and then he needed a year of in-class supervised teaching experience that he could probably get at least partially paid for. That’s all he needed to become a certified teacher.

Seeing as he would probably need seven months to fix his sleep schedule anyway, it sounded ideal.

So he signed himself up for the programme, which almost drained his bank account of everything except what he would need for food, bills and gas, for the next year.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He was drowning, again and again and again. Thrashing naked against the cold hard iron of her eternal prison, suffocating, holding her breath as long as possible and then screaming.

He wakes up screaming. 

Thrashing and punching the air above his bed.

It’s hardly the first time but it feels worse now he has neighbours. 

Breathing, in and out and in and out until the tears stop flowing and he no longer feels like he’s choking. He can practically taste the seawater on his tongue and feel the pressure of the deep sea crushing his whole body. 

It’s not a pleasant death.

4.17am. Fuck.

Perfect time to chug an overpowering coffee and start doing some required reading.

He stumbled out of bed; his breath still uneven as he hobbled down the corridor to his kitchen. Grabbed a mug and a capsule and slapped them into the machine. He moved over to the sink and went to wash his face when he found himself unable to move. His breathing was restricted and the thought of covering his face in a damp cloth terrified him. He grabbed the edge of the sink and pushed himself to face the other way and slowly sank down to the floor.

Head in his hands, which would not stop shaking, he was uncontrollably jittering whilst his breaths were coming out even harsher than before. He could feel tears racing their way down his cheeks again and he pushed both of his hands through his unkempt hair to stop it plastering itself to his face.

Part of him distantly registered the noises his coffee machine was making but he couldn’t think. He couldn’t stop his fucking hands. He couldn’t breathe.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Eventually he could take deeper breaths, he could lift his head up out of his hands. 

He leaned back against the cupboards and took one big last shaking breath. Coffee.

He used the cabinet handles to hoist himself up and he adjusted his boxers. Fuck he was cold. Coffee first, he made his way over to the machine and grabbed the mug. ‘Deep breaths’ he thought as he slowly he bought the mug up to his lips. He took a small sip and was disgusted to find the coffee cold. 

As always, his first instinct was to reach for a bottle. But then he remembered he didn’t have any in the house.

His vision started blurring and as his breaths became less frequent he let the tears fall again and slid down to the floor.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

By 6.20 be had picked himself off the floor for the second time. He made his way back to his room to grab some clothes for the day, but he couldn’t face a shower, so he grabbed some dry shampoo and deodorant and pulled the clothes over the boxers he had slept in.

He opened his phone and hit one of the few contacts on Edouard’s phone.

“Hello, Seamus here.” The gruff voice on the other end of the line sounded suspiciously as if it had only just woken up.

“Hey, it’s Bill, I can’t come today sorry Seamus.” He felt bad but he couldn’t bring himself to leave the security of his flat, let alone face anyone today. Diving was also definitely not an option. It hadn’t proved to be a problem before but he wanted to avoid it at all costs for now.

“Don’t worry about it, you alright?” He had probably heard the slight tremor in Booker’s voice.  
“Yeah, somethings come up, nothing bad. But I’ll see you tomorrow.”  
“You take care of yourself, alright? And get some sleep.” Seamus said and promptly hung up when Booker hummed in response.

He had managed to go most of his exile so far without thinking about how much he missed the rest of the Guard. Taking a year or ten off after a difficult mission was common, but normally if he had a day like this, he would drink himself to sleep, or break into Andy’s house with some weed, or go and visit Joe&Nicky with the excuse of missing Nicky’s cooking too much. Or he would shoot himself for some blissful minutes of unconscious without nightmares.

So instead, he allowed himself one cigarette on the balcony while he considered continuing researching Quynh until it was time for yoga. But he needed to be fully awake and slightly more stable to search for her. He was guessing that she had been roughly 7 miles offshore between the Isle of Wight and Weymouth in 1603 and he couldn’t afford to make a mistake now. So he decided he might as well start that required reading now anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the angst I felt bad but it had to happen. The next chapter picks up two minutes after the end of this one.
> 
> As you may have noticed Booker is not aware that what just happened is a panic attack, but that revelation will occur in later chapters.
> 
> Happy_Little_Bumblebee - I would also like to apologise for the lack of goat yoga, I'm thinking about other ways to incorporate it later don't worry


	4. Waves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Booker meets his last neighbour and does some intense yoga.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A wee bit more angst for you all, sorry.
> 
> Warning, Booker does have another, admittedly more mild, panic attack.

Two minutes later his tea was ready and Booker reached for his laptop, when someone knocked on his door. He would have ignored them but if they were knocking it meant they lived in the building. So he got up and meandered over to his door, tucking his Glock into his waistband on the way. He ran his hands through his hair and opened the door.

Standing nonchalantly on his door mat was a woman. Maybe early 40’s, her long black hair ran wildly down her back and her eyes had a dangerous twinkle to them. She shamelessly raked her eyes over Booker, making him feel like a statue on display.

Eventually she seemed to remember that she was not actually looking at a statue she reached her hand out for him to shake and flashed him a coy smile. 

“Hi! It’s so wonderful to finally meet you, I’m Majorie, I live in the flat just below you!” He gave her a tight polite smile and quickly shook her hand despite all his instincts screaming at him to slam the door in her face.  
“I heard from Eloise, you see, that you had moved in and gone around to introduce yourself and I figured it must have been while I was out of town. I was visiting my sister-in-law, well she’s more like a sister really but anyway, she lives in London you see so I made the trip a couple of weeks on account of how long it’s been since I’ve seen her. And of course, to make it worth the awful train journey there and back! I just cannot stand the trains, such awful things, so dirty.” She shook her head as if to clear her it like an etch-a-sketch.  
“And there was this horrible dog in the carriage I was in on the way back, it looked somewhat like that mutt those people keep downstairs. I do hate that dog, I really do not think they should be allowed to keep such a thing in the building, but here we are.” She huffed with a world-weary sigh as if Booker could relate.  
“Almost as bad as Eloise’s twins. I do love the woman, but Lord only knows what she thinks she’s doing, a single mother at her age really?!” She had spent almost the entire monologue looking over his shoulder, as if she was attempting to see as much of his flat as she could from the outside, or peering into his eyes, as if to discern what exactly he was. Now she looked at him expectantly, signalling it was time for him to agree with everything she had said and say how awfully sorry he was to have missed her that day. Instead, he simply said.

“I’m Bill, lovely to meet you.” In what was clearly a dismissive tone. Which she seemed to take as a deep personal insult, but Booker did not want to talk to her, he did not want her to talk at him and he did not want her in his home. 

“Can we talk another time, I’m afraid you’ve caught me in the middle of something important.” He said in an attempt to reassure her, despite having no intentions to spend any time with her. Admittedly a lie, but he figured she would be every exception to his rule, for the sake of his wellbeing.

She forcibly smiled at him and for a second Booker was expecting her to curse his family name for the rest of eternity and spit insults at him, instead she nodded.

“Of course! How rude of me to interrupt you like this!” She exclaimed with a thinly veiled sarcasm that felt as if it would snap at any moment. “How about I come round tomorrow instead?”

“Sure.” Booker said, as he planned a fake family emergency in his head for tomorrow. He gave her one last forced smile and shut the door in her face.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He spent the rest of the day reading and studying for his teaching certificate and Booker discovered that while the basics were the same as they had been in 1878, nothing else was. At that time, it would be two more years until schools started opening for girls in France, so it was safe to say that the education system had changed drastically since Booker was last a teacher. 

He loved teaching, it was the perfect balance of being able to spend time with kids and doing something rewarding and productive at the same time.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Booker decided it was time to take it up a step. He found a harder one and got changed, he was determined to conquer this. Not even his shitty balance could stop him now.

He pressed play on the video labelled ‘INTENSE Cardio Yoga (HIIT Workout) Burn and Sweat!’. It was only 30 minutes; how hard could it possibly be.

He started on his back, and lifted into bridge pose, and inhaled, exhaled moving his back down. Not so hard so far.

Seven minutes in he was practically dancing, and his legs were starting to burn. 

Twelve minutes in and he was sweating.

Fourteen minutes in and he was wondering if he needed to be tested for asthma.

Seventeen minutes in and he took a break for water. 

Twenty-one minutes in and he wasn’t sure if his immortality would see him through to the end of the video.

Twenty-five minutes in and he wasn’t sure if the human body was meant to be able to stretch like that.

Twenty-nine minutes in and he felt he truly understood the meaning of Karma for the first time.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He realised his mistake when he abandoned his top and headed towards his shower.

Fuck.

Maybe a bath would be better.

He ran himself two inches of water and stripped, added too many bubbles and waited. He sat there with his hand in the water for the longest time, just sitting, waiting till he felt ready. He stood up slowly, pushed his boxers down and just breathed for a second. He grabbed the towel rail on his right and stood in the water. He was sweating again. He sat on the edge of the tub, letting his feet be submerged, while he waited for his breath to slow down again. 

His leg was jiggling, it made the water look like waves. Booker grabbed his phone and pressed play on his music. He slowed his breathing to the beat and tried to do the same with his leg, it wasn’t really working but now he felt more in control of the small waves he was causing.

He stood up again and lowered himself into the tub. The water barely covered his legs and he put his hands on the bottom of the tub, reminded himself that it was there, not sand, not rocks, not more water, just the tub.

He grabbed some shower gel off the side and slowly lay down. He opened the bottle and rubbed the gel all over his body. He spent minutes lying there, almost in shock, focusing on his breath, one after the other. He scooped the water up with his hands and washed it over his body. He lay there for a while, letting the water run over his body, reminding himself he was in control.

Eventually, when the water went cold and Booker felt completely calm, he stood up out of the bath and got dressed.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He spent the rest of his evening wrapped in blankets watching trash tv, eating the ginger biscuits Jameela had made him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to say thank you so much to everyone who's still with me and hi to everyone who's joined. <3
> 
> How do we feel about the next chapter maybe being from Nile and Andy's POV's?


	5. Babysitting & Texting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Booker babysits while the gang reminisce.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> long chapter for you all x
> 
> originally this was just from Nile and Andy's POVs but it was boring and i missed our french rat.
> 
> enjoy

Nile’s life had changed unrecognisably just over 2 years ago, but things had finally started to settle into a vague sort of routine recently.

Missions were always exhausting and horrifying but the reward of knowing she had made the world a better place made every part of it worth it. Seeing the direct positive impact of her sacrifices was a feeling she didn’t think she would ever be able to fully explain.

Initially it hadn’t taken her long to get used the dynamics of the group. And then Booker had happened, and everything had to be relearned.

She’d liked Booker when they first met. The French man was obviously severely depressed but seemed to try his best, he was considerate and kind, admittedly distant bit it was easy to see why in hindsight.

Joe&Nicky felt like pseudo-fathers in the best way possible, and Andy that cool older cousin you couldn’t help but look up to.

Then Booker had betrayed them, well the others more than her, and she got it, she got why they exiled him, but leaving a suicidal, albeit immortal, alcoholic alone for one hundred years did not strike her as a wise decision. But it wasn’t her decision to make.

They did not talk about him, but you could tell when the group was thinking about him. A mix of anger and sadness and a reminiscent look in their eyes sold them out.

They were all staying together at Andy’s place in Turkey after a relatively successful mission. Which wasn’t uncommon, but she had been expecting them to want to split up or at least cross some borders before holidaying for a week.

She woke up first that morning, which was unusual, it was Nicky who woke up first without fail every morning. She slipped out of the room she was sharing with Andy to investigate but a quick look round the house established she was the only one up.

She moved to the kitchen and grabbed some shitty cereal and out of date milk. They’d ran out of orange juice, so Nile put a shopping list together.  
o Not-so-shitty cereal  
o Orange juice  
o Milk  
o Oreos  
o Chicken  
o Eggs

She stuck it to the fridge with a magnet that said “squirrel whisperer” which was probably some obscure reference. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The others had all made their way into the kitchen by 2pm and Nicky had ordered take-out. That was the first real sign.

They weren’t very talkative, but Nile chalked it down to sleep deprivation.

By the time they had finished the meal they had all barely said a word and Nile was kind of frustrated. She knew it wasn’t the date Booker had betrayed them or the date they’d all been tortured so she knew it probably wasn’t anything too hard for them to talk about.

“What’s today then?” Nile said as she stood up to clear the table, giving them a chance to wordlessly decide who was going to tell her.

“It’s his birthday.” It was Nicky who had spoken.

“Wh- oh.” Well, that is depressing, Nile thought. But it showed how much they cared, how he close he was to being completely forgiven.

“His actual birthday or his immortal birthday?” Nile had come to learn that the old guard celebrated both their actual birthdays and the dates they died for the first time and became immortal.

“His actual one. His immortal one is in December.” Andy huffed.

Joe and Nicky shared a sad smile. Joe was undeniably the angriest immortal now, Andy had forgiven him days after the event and moved the blame over to herself not long after. Nicky was evidently more upset, more disappointed than he was angry. Nile thought the only reason Nicky held any resentment against the French man was for the fact his Yusuf had been hurt. Joe took it the hardest, maybe because he and Booker had been so close, but then again it was impossible to compare the relationships the old guard have with each other. They were all so different, yet none less meaningful, how could they be with all that the group had been through together. 

But evidently none of them were quite ready to face him again, otherwise he would be sitting at the table with them.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She still had his number in her phone. She knew the others probably did too, but they weren’t going to send him a text, so she did. She thought of how he was probably sitting on a grimy floor somewhere in the world surrounded by empty bottles and regrets, probably too drunk to remember what day it was and she couldn’t help but feel bad for the man.

| happy birthday Booker. N x

She hesitated for a moment before sending the message, she probably shouldn’t, but in that moment she didn’t care what the others would have to say if they ever found out. Then again why would they.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The other immortals stayed at the kitchen table long after Nile disappeared to the bathroom. They didn’t say anything, but they were all thinking the same thoughts. 

This date had not mattered last year, or the year before, so Andy could tell they would not need all those one-hundred years after all.

She should have been able to see it, how much he had been hurting, and she had in a way. She had just never understood the severity. Her life, for her, had a purpose and a goal that made it worth it, in a way Sebastien’s evidently did not for him.

He’d always seemed sad, more distant than the rest of the Guard, but Andy had come to the realisation that that wasn’t how he should be, wasn’t how anyone should be. Though she’d come to that realisation a year too late.  
She laughed at the memory of Booker’s last birthday they had celebrated together, the man didn’t know how to accept gifts, or attention. So those days were always a small celebration filled with obscene amounts of cake and small but obscure gifts. Every year without fail, for as long as Andy had known him, Booker forgot his birthday, he wasn’t doing it on purpose, the man was just terrible with dates. It was a miracle he remembered the others’ birthday, but she suspected it had something to do with the small tattoos on his left bicep.

Andy didn’t remember her birthday, so when civilisation started to keep track of dates, she choose herself one, 12th of July. Quynh had chosen 9th of December. They had decided on the 1st of February for Lykon. 

Joe’s was the 6th of June and Nicky’s the 20th of November. Nile’s was 14th of April . She wondered if Booker had that tattooed too.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Booker woke up on Saturday to a text on his safe-phone. He looked at the clock on the wall. He had managed to sleep in till 11.30 and not a single nightmare to be seen.

Probably just Copley. He rolled back over and let his thoughts wander. Last week marked him eight months sober, a certified diver and on his way to becoming a teacher.  
He rolled back over to pick up his phone when he heard someone banging on his door, he prayed to all the deities that it wasn’t Majorie. He rolled himself out of bed, hopped into some jogging bottoms he found on the floor and raced to the door which someone was still banging on.

He wrenched it open, ready to fend off Majorie with the excuse of being about to leave to go on a run, only to find a dishevelled looking Eloise at his door with the twins standing behind her, looking excited to see him.

“HI Bill! I’m so sorry but my sitter cancelled on me last minute and I cant find anyone to watch the boys and I need to go soon or I’m going to be late I’m so sorry would you mind watching them I’ll be back by 4 latest-“

She had not taken a single breath since he had opened the door, so he interrupted her.

“Eloise its fine, I have nothing to do today I’ll see you later, its fine. Just go.”

The look on her face made it worth the commitment he’d just made, and she kissed each of the boys on their heads before rushing off downstairs.

“Be good boys!”

“You better come in then guys.” Booker stepped back into his hallway to allow them to pass through.

“Hi Bill!” Sam said as if he had only just noticed Booker.

“How come you’re not wearing a shirt?” James interrupted his twin as he led the parade down the hallway.

“I just woke up.”

“But why aren’t you wearing a shirt?” Sam asked.  
“Because I just woke up and I didn’t sleep in a shirt.”

“Did you sleep in your jogging bottoms then?” James asked innocently as he hoisted himself onto a chair at Booker’s table and helped himself to a random glass of water sitting on the table.

“Don’t drink that.” Booker sighed and took the glass off the boy. “No, I did not but I couldn’t open the door in my pants.”

This was apparently a hilarious concept to the boys, and it took them a while to calm down, by which time Booker had gotten them each a glass of water and had sat down at the small table with them. 

“So, we have like 5 hours to kill.” Booker looked at the boys, who were waiting for him to actually ask them a question. God this was going to be a long day, “What do you want to do?”

James sat up a bit taller, shot Sam a glare and said, “Play.”

Sam looked a little guilty as he interrupted with, “I have some homework.”

Ah, so Sam had homework. “Do you have any work to do James?”

“Nope! I finished it all yesterday.” Sam nodded slightly too vigorously in agreement.

Booker stared at James with his eyebrows raised until the boy sank a little lower in his chair and muttered something about one little bit of work.  
“Well why don’t you get it done quickly first and then you can play until your mum gets back.”

Sam seemed happy with the idea and James slightly less so, but they picked up their bags off the floor and pulled out some sheets and pencils. Booker got up to go and lock his spare room door, it was where he researched for Quynh and while there was technically nothing wrong with the room the last thing he needed was for the boys to tell their mum about his spare room with 3 different computers, two iPad, papers and old journals strewn over the floor, and map of the UK on the wall that smelt vaguely of cigarettes. Looking at it from a distance it looked somewhat like the background to conspiracy vidoes.

He grabbed a t-shirt from his room, and when he got back to the kitchen where the boys were working at the speed of light, as if their lives depended on them finishing within the minute.

“Um, Mr Bill?” James looked up from the table.

“You can just call me Bill.” Booker said.

“Do you know any French?”

“I am French, gamin.”

“It’s just I have French homework and I don’t-“ Booker sat down next to the boy.

“Show me” Booker said as he rolled his shoulders and got settled.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It took a while for Booker to get the hang of teaching the boys, but by the time they were done he was looking forward to teaching full time again. Turns out ‘a bit’ of work had meant enough to take them up to one o’clock.

“DONE!” James screeched as soon as he was done and promptly shoved his work into his bag. “Are you done Sammy?” he asked his brother eagerly.  
“Yep!” Sam leapt up from his seat and slammed his work into his rucksack and turned to Booker, “Can we have lunch?”

“Bein sŭr.” Booker stood up with a soft smile.

“What does that mean?” James’ inquisitive nature had really shone through this afternoon, much to Booker’s amusement and slight irritation.

“Of course.”

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Nile’s anxiety was starting to take hold of her when it had been almost four hours since she texted Booker and he still had not replied. ‘The man isn’t going to be on his phone 24/7 Nile, honestly’ she chastised herself, ‘and even if he was, he’s under no obligation to reply’ she reassured herself whilst her brain conjured up an image of the French man passed out drunk on a street corner somewhere, hair long and beard unkempt, being passed by as if he were a plastic bag.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Booker ended up making the twins omelettes for lunch as he did not feel he would be able to cope with taking them out. They had almost as much as he did, ‘growing boys’ he remembered his mother saying, ‘eat almost as much as men’, when he had asked why she laughed and said ‘parce qu’ils grandissent’ (because they are growing). Her infinite wisdom had never failed him so far.

Once the omlettes were done, and the plates in the dishwasher, Booker grabbed some spare blankets and dropped them on the sofa. Then he looked back over at the boys.

“Télé, non?”

“OUI” they yelled simultaneously in what had to be the worst French accents Booker had ever heard, in fact he was relatively sure his ears were about to start bleeding, but the boy’s infectious smiles and enthusiasm made up for it.  
They wrapped themselves in a cocoon of blankets and Booker waited until they had found something vaguely appropriate looking and then went to grab his laptop off the table.

He sat sank into his favourite armchair on the other side of the room and got to work.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Do you think he’s okay?” Nile couldn’t help but ask Andy as they finished drying the dishes.

Andy turned and gave the girl a tight smile, she didn’t know how to answer because she wasn’t sure if he was alright. She was pretty sure he wasn’t.  
“Text him. Tell him happy birthday.” 

Nile wasn’t sure if she should tell her she had already, it had only been a few hours and there was no need to stress out the immortal-turned-mortal anymore than she evidently already was.

“Thanks, Andy.” She turned ambled off to the loo. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Three minutes later Andy found herself typing out a message.

| Hbd Seb x

So much for no contact.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

By the time it was 4pm Elosie still wasn’t back so Booker shot her a text.

| Hey what’s your ETA no rush tho were all good here

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Nile found herself thinking about the last time she had texted Booker, she had exchanged numbers with the group when they first met in the church.

| hey its book

| this is so fuckin boring

She burst out laughing at the text and typed out a quick reply.

| thank god u text normally the others use commas and shit t h e y s i g n off on their texts i- sdhskhdjk i cant

Booker let out a deep belly laugh at that.

“Are you two texting? At dinner? Across the table from each other? For fucks sake.” 

“I’m just so happy that one of you boomers text normally.” Nile found herself grinning at Booker.

“What is a boomer?” Nicky turned to Joe.

“I think she is calling us old habibi.” Joe chucked and kissed Nicky’s cheek.

It was the sweetest little exchange but also the most boomer behaviour and for some reason it felt like the funniest thing Nile had seen all day.

“Come on, we don’t have all day, Nile you have everyone’s numbers yes?” Nile nodded, “Good, let’s move.”

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Booker grinned before sending the text.

He got a ping back a second later.

| Hi Bill! I’m so sorry I’ve been held up and traffic is looking shit :( I’m looking into finding a sitter to take the boys off your hands. Thank you so much for looking after them today! E x

He looked over to where the boys were having an animated discussion about the science behind SpongeBob.

| if you want i can keep them till u get back if u want don’t need to waste money on a sitter and im happy 2 have them

| Hi Bill! You’re an angel are you sure you don’t mind I know they can be a handful, I should be back around 7, just in time for bedtime! Could I order you and the boys some takeout? X

Apostrophes, Nile would throw a fit. 

| all sounds great. i can order food in if ur busy. see u at 7

| Thanks Bill I’ve ordered some pizza it should arrive at 6! I’ve already paid and tipped so no worries and thanks again. X

Well, that was that sorted.

“Hey boys your mum’s ordered in some pizza for 6.” He raised his voice to be heard over the TV and the rising volume of their argument, which had reached the pros and cons of living in a pineapple stage.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

By the time the pizzas had arrived the boys had dragged Booker into a conversation about weather or not pineapple belonged on pizza and Booker was reminded of the time he had suffered through an entire pineapple pizza just to infuriate Nicky.

“It’s disgusting, I can’t believe you James.” Booker said with his head in his hands, whilst Sam nodded seriously next to him. The doorbell rang.

“PIZZAAAAAAAAA” The twins raced to the door, and Booker smirked and walked after them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i speak no french - blame google translate, but if anyone has better translations please lmk!
> 
> OKAY LADS ON THE TOPIC OF TATTOOS ITS MY FIC I CAN DO WHAT I WANT  
> i just think he has each of the guards first initials next to their date and month of birth (quhyn and lykon too)


	6. Tattoos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “But we heal so wont it just…” Booker trailed off gesturing vaguely at his body.
> 
> Andy pulled up her shirt up to just above her waist to show off a beautiful constellation around her hip. The stars weren't joined and Booker couldn't identify them, it did not feel right to ask. Andy smiled softly at him her fingertips dusting over the smooth black stars that decorated her side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys i'm so sorry its been so long and i'm sorry this is such a pathetically short chapter.
> 
> I've got some exams in a month but I've been more motivated recently so there'll be maybe one or two more chapters in the next month and then hopefully a lot more after that.
> 
> Enjoy!

By the time Booker had helped get the boys back down to their flat he just wanted to sleep.  
So he showered, avoided a breakdown and climbed into his bed.  
Copley. Then again if it was urgent the man would have paid someone to break into his flat by now.  
Curiosity got the better of him and he reached into his bedside table for his old safe phone. 

| happy birthday Booker. N x

| Hbd Seb x

Nile and Andy. Oh fuck. He pulled his sleeves up to his shoulder and looked at the stanza that wrapped its way around his bicep. He’d gotten them with Andy and Nicky.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“But we heal so wont it just…” Booker trailed off gesturing vaguely at his body.

Andy pulled up her shirt up to just above her waist to show off a beautiful constellation around her hip. The stars weren't joined and Booker couldn't identify them, it did not feel right to ask. Andy smiled softly at him her fingertips dusting over the smooth black stars that decorated her side.

“Do you have any Nicoló?”  
Nicky blushed and placed his hand on his side, just below his heart.  
“It’s a verse of Yusuf’s poetry.” Andy snickered and Nicky’s eyes went soft.  
Booker let out a deep chuckle and turned to Andy, “In we go then, no?”

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I was joking, mon frére.” Nicky said as Booker pulled out the scrap of paper Nicky had written all the Guard’s birthday’s on for his earlier that day.  
“Oui, but I am not.” Booker grinned at him.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It had hurt but he’d undeniably had worse. Looking at his brother's writing on him now felt like a curse, a constant reminder of his family and the shit he’d put them through.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Unsure how he should reply to the messages he got up and made himself a cup of tea, they were big on it here, not so much the herbal stuff Nicky loved but the caffeinated dull coloured version. He knew too much about the drink due to the amount of times he had been dragged on month long trips to India with Joe to get that one type of tea you could only get from that one specific farm near the east coast.

He boiled the kettle and grabbed a mug from out of the sink.  
Today probably justified a cigarette, wasn’t like he was smoking weed.  
He grabbed his last packet and a lighter from inside a chipped mug from the top shelf. He set them on the counter and made himself a cup of decaf. He hardly noticed burning himself as he poured the water out of the kettle and grabbed the milk out of the fridge.

He left it to cool on the side and grabbed a butt, he lit it slowly flicking the lighter in front of it a few times before he let it catch. Tea and a cigarette, gross combination but it calmed him. He sat himself on the kitchen counter, leaning against the cabinets and taking long drags, forgetting about the tea.  
When he picked it up again it was stone cold but he drank it anyway, savouring the numb feeling of his body as he crumpled the cig out in his palm. He grabbed the phone and clicked down to the text Nile had sent him.

| happy birthday Booker. N x  
| thx nile. wens urs?

He found Andy’s text next.

| Hbd Seb x  
| thanks boss.

He figured it was safest to leave it at that. So he hopped off the counter and made himself another cuppa before heading to bed.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Nile’s head perked up when her phone pinged, and she jumped off the sofa to answer it. They were still in Andy’s safehouse and it had been almost a day since she had texted Booker. She pulled her phone out of her back pocket and grinned when she saw who the message was from. She rushed to open her phone and opened the chat.

| thx nile. wens urs?

‘wens’ Probably drunk then. She wasn’t disappointed, just sad. She sent him a quick message back.

| April 14th 

She should definitely leave it at that but she had never done exactly what she was meant to, and she was not planning on starting now.

| how r u book?

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“He’s still alive and kicking kid.” Andy shoved her phone in Nile’s face. A pathetic response but better than nothing. Nile automatically reached for her’s and showed Andy the text she had gotten, while covering the second message she had sent back.  
Andy grinned and gripped the back of Nile’s neck as if she had told her Booker had gotten sober. She laughed and pulled her shirt up to show Nile her tattoo. Nile had seen it before and raised her eyebrows, it was odd, Andy showing it to her again now, it wasn’t something she paraded around.

“Booker has each of our birthdays on his arm.” She reached out and ghosted her arm over the inside of the top of Nile’s bicep.  
She chuckled and released Nile from her grip. “Your’s is gonna join them I guess kid.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yet again this has been beta'd by exactly no one so please be kind. (thx happy_little_bumblebee in advance, you’re the best)
> 
> thanks for reading x


	7. Interviews

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Booker gets interviewed for a teaching position he applied for.  
> AKA  
> Booker attempting human interaction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAMER - im not a teacher i know nothing about being a teacher or being hired to teach, i also know very little about interviews and frankly why i decided to write this fic is beyond me.  
> essentially if this is mostly bs that doesnt make sense thats cuz i was bsing this whole chapter. pls accept my apologies in advance
> 
> another disclamer - im not completely happy with this chapter, i don't really like it, but i feel like its the best it'll ever get to be and i really should start posting again if i ever want to finish this lol
> 
> ALSO - i do know that u cant dive in Brighton, but its fanFICTION so yk just go with it.
> 
> for anyone, like myself, who signed up for the plot and has been disappointed i've made it to 12k and still no Quhyn in sight, all i can do is apologise and say that the chances are she will appear sometime in the next 10k words (which is a while i know but rest assured i do plan on him finding her before i reach retirement)

Booker had been entirely undecided about what to wear to his interview. He only had two suits with him, one that was undeniably too scruffy for the occasion that he had found in a British Heart Foundation shop, and the other a Marks and Spencer’s classic that he had just in case an occasion would arise that he would need a good-looking suit for. His favourite option was an expensive jumper he had bought simply for whatever the fuck it was made of. It had to be hand washed, but it was well worth it. He had settled on the M&S suit in the end.

“You must be Mr Edouard.” 

“Hi, yes, you can call me Bill. It’s nice to meet you.” Booker stuck out his hand out for who he assumed must be the headteacher. She was not an imposing figure, but had a clear presence that demanded a level of respect, an average height and a slim build but Booker was well aware of the consequences of underestimating people he did not know.

“I’m Ms Caldwell, but please, call me Irina!” She beckoned Booker into her office and gesture to a chair in front of the desk.  
She took her seat behind the desk at a generic office chair, bought for no doubt comfort over its appearance. Behind her was a simple watercolour painting of sand dunes, accompanied by what appeared to be decades worth of school pictures.

“So! You have quite the resume here, Bill.”

Booker had of course, to pretend that he had despite all his qualifications, never actually taught a class before, which would no doubt pose a problem in him getting a job, however the myriad of languages he spoke would ease that problem. This was the fanciest of all the schools he had applied to teach at, he had chosen it for its languages department. French, Spanish and Mandarin were their main focuses, but they also offered courses in Russian, German and Arabic. He had chosen not to advertise the fact that he spoke Mandarin, he had never truly grasped the essence of it anyway. That alongside that he could easily teach computer sciences left him rather well qualified.

“Thank you.” Unsure how to respond to that he decided not to comment further.

“Did you grow up speaking any of these languages or it that something you learnt later on?”

“Yes I grew up speaking French, English and Russian. I took Spanish at, I believe they are called A-Levels now, but I spent some years travelling, where I picked up German and Arabic.”

“So, why do you want to teach, this is not the usual career change from tech support at a large company.” She lent forwards as if expecting him to spill his life story.

He decided if that were what she wanted, he would gladly share, conscious of how he worded it he started talking through his cover.

“Well, I took that job because I was good at it, it was never something I truly had a passion for. It sounds juvenile but, I decided I wanted to teach after helping my neighbour’s kids with their homework. I’ve always loved working with kids, and I’ve been looking for a career change, so this seemed like the next best step.”

She regarded him for a moment before asking,

“You are of course qualified to teach French, Russian and Spanish, and I do not doubt German and Arabic too, as well as computer science. Which of those would be your preference?”

Booker had been so well prepared to just take what he could get, that he was almost stumped by the question.

“I would prefer to teach computer science and French, but happy to teach any of them.” Suddenly aware of how little he had prepared for this interview, he was beginning to be concerned, he was unsure of how he should be answering and what they were looking for, he could feel his palms beginning to clam up.

She smiled at him, seemingly aware of his nerves she moved on to her next question; “How would you motivate your students?”

“I believe students will not be motivated unless they are interested, and unless they believe that they can achieve their goals. So, it’s important that they enjoy their lessons and that they know I believe they can achieve what they need and want to.”

“And how would you ensure students enjoy your lessons?”

“The more engaging the better, I think it is paramount that students actively participate in lessons and that no two lessons are the same, as repetition easily leads to boredom and therefore disinterest.” He explained, doing his best impression of the headteacher from the school he had taught in in 1878. He had been a fat old man, full of himself but considered rather forward thinking at the time.   
Seemingly satisfied with his answer she moved on to what was no doubt the next in a generic list of questions.

“Would you describe yourself as a team player and can you tell me about a time you worked in a team to solve an issue?”  
Despite Bookers ‘lone wolf’ “vibes”, he was evidently a proficient team player, considering his work with the Guard, but he imagined the time they stole a Van Gogh, or the time they fought in the American Civil War, were not quite the examples Irina was looking for.  
He rattled on about a made-up problem in his last made-up job that seemed to please her, and she swiftly moved on to her next line of questioning.

“Tell me about a time someone gave you feedback and how you responded to that.”

‘Well, the last time I received feedback I was told I was a selfish piece of shit.’ He thought to himself as he contemplated the question.  
He ended up talking about being told his internet safety presentations at his last job were not the most thrilling and then went on to say he had taken a random online course in public speaking.

“Of course as this is your first year teaching, we would be paying you half a salary and we would regularly sit in on your lessons to check up on you and your progress.” He smiled at her and said of course, practically running on autopilot with pleasantries. He did know this already and had been frankly surprised that the school had still agreed to interview him when he explained the situation.

“Finally Bill, do you have any questions for me?”

Unexpected, he was sure he was meant to have a question prepared but he did not. He was relatively sure now was not the appropriate time to grill her on the quality of the school canteen, so he settled on:  
“What is your favourite thing about working here?” It seemed harmless enough and he prayed he would not get psycho-analysed for asking.

“I love the people and the students I get to work with on a daily basis, all my co-workers are wonderful people which just makes my job that bit easier and more enjoyable.” It was a generic enough answer, but she seemed to be honest and he did not really care how pleasant her colleagues were anyway.

Again unsure if he was meant to respond to her answer he settled on nodding. Thankfully, he was saved by her bringing the interview to a close. 

“It’s been wonderful to meet you Bill, I believe you have another interview with the head of our language department and then with the head of computing so if you head back into the reception area someone will come and get you for those. Thanks again.”

“It’s been a pleasure, thank you for having me.” He stood up, forced a genuine looking smile and shook her hand again before walking back down the corridor to where he had been seated before.

His thoughts wandered away from him as he waited for his next two interviews.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He sighed and looked at the form he had to fill out. They seemed to want to know everything about him.  
Fuck. A reference.

Why they really needed that was beyond him, but it was going to be a pain to get one.

Copely was really his only choice. The man was probably keeping tabs on him anyway and this was not a massive ask. He rummaged around his side table for his phone and hit Copely’s number.

Luckily, he picked up after two rings.

“James, its Booker. I need a favour.”

“Nice to hear from you too Booker. What can I do for you?”, he teased gently. 

Booker was lucky Copley had agreed to keep in contact with him, and still watch his ‘footprint’, he called it.

“Do you speak French?”

“Oui, passably.”

“Perfect, I need to put someone down for a job reference and you’re looking like my best option.”

“I think I can manage that.”

“Thank you, I’m going by William Edouard and you are a boss at some big business. I worked in tech support.”

“I take it this business does not actually exist.”

“No,” Booker sighed, “I put together a website yesterday and I’ve attached an email address to it that I own, but I need to give this job your contact details.”

“Right and what job are you applying for?”

“Teaching, so feel free to drop in that I’m great at explaining new concepts or something. Thanks for doing this.”

“All I have to do is answer the phone and claim that Will Edouard was my amazing employee, yes?”

“Yes, if you can do all that in French that would be wonderful, but yes, that’s all.”

“Consider it done. I have important things to be doing so send me the website address and hang up would you.”

“Nice to hear from you too.” Booker joked back at him and promptly hung up.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“William Edouard?” An eccentric woman with a colourful scarf floating around her neck approached Booker. Her coarse brown hair swayed around her and he assumed from her slight French accent that she was going to be interviewing him.

“Yes, hello.” He stood up and stuck his hand out for her to shake, which she gladly did. She shook his hand as if it were some delicate contraption, barely gripping it, simply placing their hands together.

“I’m Guenièvre Coste, head of languages here. It is nice to meet you.” She let his hand go and turned around. “Please, follow me.”

She led him back down the same corridor as before, but into a different office. Already inside was a stout looking man, balding and lounging back on a plastic chair which looked out of place enough that Booker assumed it had been dragged in just for the purpose of the interview.

The man stood up to introduce himself.   
“Ronald Garfield, I teach German and Russian.”

“Please, take a seat.” Coste flicked her wrist at the only other chair remaining in the room.

Booker took a seat in front of the desk and prepared to be interrogated.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They conducted his interview mainly in French; however they spent the rest of his time talking in German and Arabic, which Coste spoke with surprising fluency. It lasted longer than his previous interview but as their focus was more on his fluency than the questions they were asking him, it was definitely the easier of the two.

They both shook his hand again before taking him back to reception where he was told to wait before the head of computing would arrive.  
He was younger than Booker had expected, no possibility he was over 30. He had a mop of brown hair and a piercing that matched his shirt as well as tattoos poking their way out of his sleeve.

He conducted the interview far more casually than the rest of them had been. He just asked Booker to walk him through a lesson plan and then they just discussed which was their favourite language to code in, and he gave a brief overview of the syllabus they taught.

He left the building in a far better one than he had entered it in. He decided to walk home, it was not far but it was also almost directly on a bus route.

He was theorising that Quhyn was somewhere in the Celtic sea, between Cork and Plymouth 100 years ago. He was not far off being able to take a good guess as to where she was located now, and but the problem was he could be completely wrong. She could have been swept up near to Sweden, or she could be off the coast of Massachusetts or even down by Sierra Leone.

He had been told by the receptionist that he could expect to hear back from them in a week or three. He had three more interviews lined up in the next two weeks, none of which he was looking forward to. But he had already sent his resume off, so he resigned himself to his fate and went to take a shower.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have been long saying that i don't have a beta, which is true but i just wanna thank Happy_Little_Bumblebee for all the help they've been, essentially unofficially betaing my work <33

**Author's Note:**

> In case this is not glaringly obvious, I don't know what I'm doing.  
> Please send help.
> 
> I know literally nothing about anything and Wikipedia is my go to source for any questions I have, so please let me know if anything sounds stupid or implausible.
> 
> Kudos, comments, suggestions and constructive criticism all mean the world to me <3


End file.
